


Shoot Twice

by NotRyanRoss



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst and Humor, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys, Heterosexual Ray Toro Except Not Really, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Killjoys origin story, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Origin Story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-21 01:49:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6033613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotRyanRoss/pseuds/NotRyanRoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternatively labelled 'How Gabriel Saporta kickstarted the killjoys.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_A/N: chapters will be longer after this one_

Mikey had nearly been dusted.

He'd been on a gas run, took the bike to a place on the outskirts of Battery City. It was deemed a safe spot because the dracs absolutely hated it; probably because it was next to the local rubbish dump. Problem was, they'd noticed people lurking around the spot and Mikey hadn't been ready for them, wasn't able to get close enough to do any damage with his hands. One had glanced a shot off at his knee, making him drop and roll behind a barrel. He knew he wasn't a good enough shot to get both dracs at once, or even fast enough so he wouldn't die so he stayed where he was, gloved hand pressed to his leg, hissing at the sting.

That was when _they'd_ shown up.

He heard the dracs steps get closer, their guns powering up to finish him off. God, Gerard would be _so mad at him._ At least he'd be dead to avoid the wrath of the his older brother, he thought as he braced himself for a painful death by ray gun. And then there was a loud, obnoxious crowing noise from behind him, so noisy that the trash near him rattled. A crowing noise.

Like, a _rooster_ crowing noise.

Cock a doodle doo.

There it went again.

And it was utterly absurd, because there were no chickens here. No chickens anywhere. There hadn't been live animals for many, many years, outside of some laboratory Battery City owned deep in Canada's midwest or somewhere underground in Madagascar, so this was a little odd, to say the very least. Also, if that rooster was as big as the crow made it sound, they were all in very, very deep shit. Both literally and figuratively.

He heard the dracs run in the direction of the noise, down the alleyway and away from him, and tried to get up. Now was his chance to maybe actually survive this encounter, warn the others their resources were compromised. Except, he found as his cheekbone and nose met the dusty floor with a painful smacking noise, they'd used the stun guns that put his leg out of comission for the next few weeks. He probably wouldn't be able to walk without crutches for a while, he realised. Fuck.

"Fuck," he repeated, out loud this time.

"Now, now, save that for the first date at least," came a low but cheerful voice above him.

Mikey looked up.

And he'd needed to look up, because _damn_ was this guy tall, maybe taller than him even, and that was a miracle within itself. The person was wearing a neon purple leather jacket and tight white pants, short black hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. A pair of RayBans were perched on top of his head, a matching violet to the jacket. Mikey squinted at him because you couldn't _not_ squint, he was that blinding. It was painful. Like staring directly into the sun or something.

"Can't walk? Okay," the guy said, still in that cheery tone, and scooped him up.

"Hey," Mikey protested, because he was being carried like he was the guy's new bride and that was _so_ not cool. He'd heard some of the non-BLI people were insane and backwards. Not to mention he was being _fucking kidnapped._

"I'll leave the boys to you, Viper, Rattlesnake," the person carrying him said to a girl with neon pink goggles and a guy with what looked like a machine gun with a rainbow on it as he passed them. The girl gave them a nonchalant thumbs up and stalked down the way they'd came, twirling a painted mauve glock between her fingertips deftly.

"Put me down," Mikey grumbled at his rescuer-gone-kidnapper as he was carried to a van and settled in the back bench.

The guy offered him a bright grin that showed off sharp white teeth. "Awh, but honey, where's the fun in that?"

"Who are you, and what do you want?"

Mikey fixed him with a piercing stare, and the guy raised his lime-gloved hands in a shrug. "Why can't we just enjoy our date?"

Mikey stayed silent. And stared.

"Alright, fine. I'm Cobra. Cobra Star. And I want...hm," the guy began, "I want...true love. For realsies."

"No one says realsies," Mikey replied in a disgusted tone. "And that's the dumbest name I've ever heard."

And that's when it all began.


	2. Chapter 2

"Who are you?"

"I told ya! Cobra Star!"

"No," Mikey said in an exasperated tone, "what's your real name? I'm not calling you that, it's the dumbest name ever."

Cobra, as he reluctantly had to call the other man, grinned again. "None of that, honey. You haven't even given me a codename."

"Mikey," he grumbled.

Cobra made a disapproving clucking noise in the back of his throat and met Mikey's eye with a glint of mischief that made his stomach churn, albeit not unpleasantly. And that was a whole other road he wasn't willing to turn down, especially when he had no idea what these guys' game were. But damn, Cobra had game, and it was oddly attractive.

"Mikey. Short for Michael, I'm guessing? That's not a codename."

"I'm not using a codename, you idiot."

"Killjoy."

They were sitting in the back of Cobra's extremely colourful Better Living Industries van, apparently going back to the group's hideout for a fillup. One of the other men- they called him Astral- had mentioned a 'retrieval' as well, whatever one of those were. Mikey hadn't argued at the detour, hadn't even asked about being reunited with his family, because he wanted to check out how other people were living, if it was just his brother and Ray that liked hiding out in abandoned diners.

If it was just Gerard that almost starved himself to death so Mikey and Ray would have enough food for a decent meal every day. If it was just Gerard that sacrificed himself for people he considered more important than him. If it was just Gerard that thought he was doing the right thing by being a martyr. That was why he'd gone solo for this trip in the first place, and why he was in this mess at all.

He let out a huff of breath.

Stupid Gerard.

" _I cannot believe you'd be so fucking stupid, Gerard!"_

_Gerard's wide, shocked eyes were still burned in his mind. He'd looked for all the part like a kicked puppy, and it had taken all of Mikey's willpower not to kneel down and embrace him where he sat on the floor, too weak to run about. The fact that he was staying right in that spot on the floor, by a dusty white table had been the tipping point. He'd noticed his brother getting paler, noticed his movements getting slower and less coordinated, but he'd written it off as mood swings or something of the like._

_Not that Gerard had been starving himself._

_Their schedules were completely erratic especially when it came to their rations, it was no wonder Mikey hadn't picked up on it but it still wasn't good enough. Looking at his white face and uncomprehending expression, Mikey realised that Gerard probably didn't know he was doing anything wrong. Of course he didn't; he was Gerard Way. He probably thought what he was doing was really clever, and not at all the stupidest thing Mikey had ever heard of. His brother had always wanted to be the martyr, the younger Way thought bitterly._

" _I cannot believe-" here he stopped, waving one gloved hand, "-that you would pull something like this! You could've died, you idiot!"_

_Gerard continued with his stunned goldfish expression. He looked somewhere between bewildered and scared, worried. Confused, perhaps? Where Mikey was concerned there really wasn't much to be confused about except why Gerard had considered this a good idea in the first place. Maybe it was the fact Mikey was yelling. Maybe it was the fact Mikey was yelling at him. Maybe it was just hunger. Either way, Mikey knew he couldn't fix this._

_"I'm going on a supply run," Mikey said sharply, yanking the Better Living white helmet from the bench and stalking out, not giving him a chance to talk his way out of this._

_Gerard didn't follow him._

"What's a retrieval?"

Astral glanced up from the contraption in his hand he was fiddling with attentively as Cobra drove, singing a pop song badly with no radio accompanying. He was a lot more subdued than Cobra, but still with that same group energy they all seemed to contain. And, Mikey had to admit, Astral was better name than Cobra Star. Even if he was ninety percent sure that Astral wasn't his entire codename. It was probably short for Astral Projection or something. They seemed to work in pairs of random objects, if he had to guess. Although he'd heard his rescuer preaching about a Church of the Cobra or something a few minutes ago.

"A retrieval is...well," Astral began, fringe falling in front of his eyes that had been dyed green, albeit not well. "Some people got stuck in Battery City as inside agents, and there's been a problem with that, so we're gonna drag them all out. Retrieve them, if you will."

"Are they in danger?"

"Of course they are. It's just one guy we need, at the moment, but he's good with the tech. We need him badly, because we're shit at it."

Mikey made a hmm-ing noise and linked his fingers together, closing his eyes to think the situation over. He needed to find out information, but he also needed to crawl into a rabbit hole and cry for a few hours. Additionally, he should probably go back and apologise to Gerard, tell him what an idiot he was again, but he wasn't feeling too forgiving. Anyway, he wasn't sure he could convince the older to eat anyway. He let out a long sigh and met Astral's faintly curious gaze again.

"Can I come with?"

Astral raised an eyebrow, and opened his mouth, likely to reject the idea immediately, but he was stopped before he even got a word out. Cobra's cackle interrupted them loudly. The van swerved dangerously, and one of the others barked at him to drive instead of eavesdrop on conversations in the backseat, but Cobra turned his head to catch Mikey's eye anyway, grinning.

"Kid," he said gleefully, "you can go anywhere you want. If you wanna pick up Bryar, let's go for it."

The same sounded familiar, but Mikey brushed it off. "Let's do it," he said instead, firm.

"But first," Cobra said decisively as they stopped outside the gates to Battery city. "You need some new gear. Viper, check the back."

Astral took the syringe that Viper tossed to him, blinked up at Mikey through his glasses before glancing back to his leg. Mikey had forgotten about that until this point, hadn't considered the fact it was basically paralysed, but while he was thinking about this Astral jabbed the needle into his thigh.

"Fuck," he barked, damaged leg kicking out and nearly hitting Astral in the face.

Well. That was that taken care of, he thought, giving Astral a disgruntled stare.

Clearly his tattered white Better Living jumpsuit wasn't doing much to impress this crowd. The girl- Viper, probably -tossed a duffle bag at Mikey, and he stared at it worriedly. Please don't be neon, he thought as he unzipped it. He'd take anything but yellow. And the Gods must have heard his prayer, because in the bag was a pair of black pants and a red leather jacket. A really nice red leather jacket. He pulled out the jacket and surveyed the logo on the front. It looked like a Cobra, which meant...

"This yours?"

Cobra shrugged. "Early model. Wasn't my style. Too butch."

Mikey tried not to be insulted by that as he got changed while the group buzzed around. Luckily, the other four didn't seem interested in his skinny yet tanned body, but then Cobra slapped his ass as he went past, cackling with glee. Mikey twitched and put on the clothes, peeking in the bag and finding some leather gloves. Excellent. Gloves meant he wouldn't hurt himself as much when he used martial arts. He didn't find a shirt; so he didn't wear one, and as he stood another guy approached him, holding a pair of boots. The others had all been around six feet tall, this guy was maybe five four?

The guy presented the boots to him with something like shyness and Mikey took them with a mumbled thanks and slid them on. After a few moments he realised this guy wasn't leaving, just shuffling his feet awkwardly. He looked over the blue and hot pink shirt, the bandana over the fluffy dark fringe, and what looked like rollerblades- seriously, rollerblades- before raising an eyebrow in query.

"Dude..." the guy started hesitantly. "We're being partnered up for the retrieval. You and I are...yeah."

"Okay."

Another hesitant smile. "I'm-"

"Don't give me one of those dumb codenames, please."

Instead of ignoring his request like he'd gotten from Cobra Star earlier, the smaller man gave him a tiny amused smirk and answered him, assumedly honestly. Mikey wouldn't put it past these people to lie, but this guy seemed too chill to actually be right into the codenames thing. Then again, so did Cobra and he still went for it.

"Nate."

Nate, huh. Like Nathan? Or Nathaniel? Hell, maybe his mother had just named him Nate.

"Cool," Mikey replied.

Nate glanced at the dusty floor and then back up, tiny smile widening fractionally. "Let's blow this joint," he said, waving Mikey over to where they were working on a code for a backdoor into Battery City.

The girl- Viper- was clicking impatiently at a keypad, her hair curved into a sharp bob that hid her facial expression from him. He glanced to the side and saw Astral folding up his glasses and setting them carefully in the van, replacing them with goggles that looked like they'd come from a five year old's swimming class. The tallest guy- Cobra had called him Rattlesnake but he'd heard Astral call him Ripley- was removing guns from the back of a motorcycle, and Mikey noticed they'd painted them all in vibrant colours.

"What's with the rainbow thing?" The question was directed at Nate, but Cobra barged in and wrapped an arm around both of their shoulders as he said it.

"There's no colour in Battery City," Nate said.

"What he said," Cobra commented. "It's all white. Like, I used to wear white all the time, but nah. Not cool anymore."

Mikey raised an eyebrow as the older man began waving his hands around fluidly, nearly hitting Nate in the face.

"The worst thing about being in the City when they first started this Better Living crap wasn't the drugs to keep you dead inside, or the assigned jobs that involved doing fuckall," he said, dark eyes fixed on the snow-white shadow of the city above the wall, "it was the fact they'd killed all the art. No music. No fiction. No movies, tv, pictures, nothing. But most of all, no colour."

"Was that before you started this...rebellion?"

"Well," Cobra said. "We wouldn't have gotten out if it weren't for Wentz."

Wentz. "Wait. You mean Pete Wentz, the guy who blew up the gates years ago and got murdered for it? The first rebel?"

"He did that to save us. Us and some of the others," Nate shrugged.

"Others?" Mikey couldn't believe it. "You mean there's like a-"

"Gate's more open than a supermodel's vagina," Viper interrupted cheerfully as she walked past, heels clipping sharply.

And just like that, Cobra was all business. Or, more business than he had been before. "You should try a yellow t-shirt with all that, it'd look hot as fuck," was the last thing that reached Mikey's ears before a yellow gun was placed in his hands and they were off. He tried not to think about yellow shirts, because he wouldn't be caught dead in one.

Mikey felt the nerves hit him the second he stepped into Battery City. The place was always too quiet, the only break from it the constant advertising of BLI. He kept up with Nate easily, mostly due to his long legs but also because they were to go through the shadows and pick up the Bryar guy, not to do anything big.

"Ripley and Astral are on distraction, Cobra and Viper are on security. We're the retrievers," Nate whispered to him as they ran down an alleyway. Mikey opened his mouth to ask what the distraction was as a loud boom that made the ground shudder sounded, and closed it again. He let Nate lead the way, following him through alleys and shadows, never main streets where he could see the medicated civilians marching past mechanically. They still gave him the creeps, even now.

They reached a block that was as white and unassuming as the rest of the City, but when Mikey looked closer he noticed a red X sprayed on the door. Nate stopped still beside him, breathed a quick "oh fuck," and skated to the door. Mikey followed, dread clambering up his throat painfully.

"Motherfucker," Nate spat as he looked around the room. Everything was overturned, chairs with legs broken off, the pristine white table cracked down the middle. Protein bars littered on the floor, shreds of a duffle bag on the stairs. Nate swore again, spat on the Better Living radio that was on the bench, and put his face in his hands in frustration.

"I'll...go look upstairs," Mikey offered, and was promptly ignored by the smaller man.

Upstairs wasn't much better. The BLI regulation houses didn't contain much stuff on principle, and this was obviously the same despite being owned by a rebel. A drawer had been knocked in front of the door, and Mikey had to shove at it until it gave with a loud groan of hinges. He wandered over to the bed, where there was shattered glass on the carpet.

He was expecting a window or something, not a photograph. The glass crunched under his boots ominously as he bent to rescue the battered-looking picture from the ruins. It was torn at the corner, like someone had gripped it too hard. The scene in the background was of somewhere he didn't recognise, somewhere before. There were two people in the photo, and Mikey assumed the disgruntled blonde with the amp cord in his hand was Bryar.

It was the other person in the picture that got his attention. Scruffy hair, lip ring, dark red shadows around his eyes, covered in sweat and clutching a guitar like it was his wife. That or his mistress that he left his wife for.

"Frank fucking Iero," Mikey breathed.

A loud clunk from the direction of the bathroom broke his stunned stare at the photo. He folded it up and stuck it in his pants pocket, drawing his gun and approaching the door. Knowing his luck, it was just a bat or something, but as he turned the knob he realised the door was locked. Which meant there was something here. Something that was probably important.

"Nate," he called cautiously.

The shorter man entered the room and tilted his head curiously. "What is it?"

Mikey motioned to the door. "Something's in there," he informed.

Nate drew his gun and approached, lifting his leg once he was close enough to deliver a solid kick to the wood. It didn't budge at all and he winced and rubbed at his leg. Mikey huffed out a breath and shifted Nate aside, closing his eyes to remember the martial arts he'd learned. Feel the energy in your body, center it, and...

The door sprung open with a slam and Nate let out an impressed noise from behind him. "Good job, newbie," he praised.

Mikey wasn't listening to him.

Because maybe Bob Bryar had known that BLI was after him, maybe he'd guessed but hadn't even attempted to save himself at all. Because even as everything had been ransacked and broken, another thing had been freed because of Bob Bryar's choices. Because there was a person handcuffed to the sink, with shaggy black hair over his face and the twitching associated with withdrawal. Because the person was worth far more to Mikey than a tech master, and clearly he'd meant enough to Bryar that sacrificing himself to let escape be possible for another.

"Frank," Mikey said, softly.

Frank didn't seem to notice him, just kept shivering and twitching and pulling at the handcuffs. He was in the white Better Living clothes, the sleeve on his right hand rolled back enough to see the red marks tugging at the ciffs had caused. Mikey took a step closer, close enough that he could kneel down and try to look up at Frank's face. He got a flat, empty stare in return, but Mikey could still see a spark in those green eyes.

"Frank," he repeated. "Frank, snap out of it."

It had taken the Way brothers a week to get out of that mindset, and it took Ray two. The pills were still in his system somewhere, that or the initial brainwashing had stuck with the shorter man, because Frank's stare didn't change in the slightest at his words, didn't have any sort of reaction to any of it. He was just...empty, and something hollowed in Mikey's own stomach at the sight. He sat back and let out a sigh, waving for Nate to come over and remove the handcuffs from the sink.

_"Mikes! Hey, you came to my show!"_

_Frank let out a bright laugh as he tried to crawl up Mikey in happiness, and the older allowed it with an amused look. Frank was practically buzzing, he was so full of energy, and the bandage around his neck signifying new tattoos looked luminous in the dimness of the club. His guitar, Pansy, was strapped to his back carefully, and Mikey noticed he never moved in a way that would dislodge her. He pushed Frank off without much effort, and the younger slid to the floor with a suspicious pot giggle._

_"Asshole, you smoked up without me," Mikey grumbled at him, although there wasn't any bite in it. "I shouldn't have brought you a present after all."_

_Frank's eyes lit up even more. "A present? Dude, you got me a present for my band's first set?"_

_Mikey stepped to the side and revealed Gerard, his eyes large and dark, hair matted and covering some of his face. He smelt like liquor and paint, partially because Mikey hadn't been able to wrestle him out of the Bowie t-shirt he'd been wearing for a week, but he still offered Frank a shy smile._

_Frank looked like his face was going to split, he smiled that hard. Mikey snorted as the tattooed man launched himself at Gerard, laughing noisily and pressing his lips to the older Way's nose. Gerard wrinkled said nose up, although his arms wrapped around Frank's ass to make sure he didn't fall to the ground._

_"Hi," Gerard greeted._

_"Hey," Frank replied, knocking their foreheads together._

_Gerard smiled, and for the first time in years, he looked alive. Sure, he was still drunk, unhappy with life, and depressed, but something about Frank revived him._

"Come on," Mikey ordered, receiving no response from Frank's huddled form. He sighed again and scooped him up, muscles in his back pulling. He hadn't bulked up much, but Frank looked like he'd wasted away, and felt like paper in his arms. Nate eyed them both but allowed Mikey to carry him out of the house.

"Who's he?"

Mikey grunted. "My brother's best friend."

Nate nodded. "Can you carry him?"

"I'll manage. He's worth it."

Nate seemed dubious, but allowed it nonetheless. Not that Mikey was asking for his permission or anything. Frank didn't move at all for the first few streets aside from the occasional twitch, and Mikey would have thought he was dead if not for the shallow little breaths against his neck.

They made it to the van without much fanfare, Nate joining Viper, Astral and Ripley to clue them in, Mikey sitting Frank down on the backbench. Cobra was sitting across from them, but Mikey ignored him, sliding a hand up Frank's face to get him to look up.

"Hey. Fuckface."

"Your language is not sanctioned by the Better Living authorities. You will be reported," Frank replied dully.

"Come on, Frank, don't be a fucking-"

"Your language is not sanctioned by the Better Living authorities. You will be reported," Frank repeated, voice just as flat.

Mikey was overcome by the despair flooding into his veins and drowning him in those blank orange-green eyes. It felt like he was sinking down into his own palpable fear and sadness, overwhelming in its power.

Cobra's hand slapped down on his shoulder and made hin flinch. "Come over here," he said, not unkindly. "Let him breathe a little."

Mikey backed off as fast as was physically possible, his eyes fixed on the disheveled man across from him. Frank didn't say anything more, just twitched visibly and sat there. Mikey sucked in a shuddering breath as Cobra came closer and sat down beside him, drawing an arm across his shoulders. Mikey didn't resist, just choked back his sobs and buried his face in the dark-haired man's animal print shirt.

No one said anything.

Mikey was glad.

"We're gonna go back to base to recover, want Ripley to take you and your buddy home?"

He looked up at Viper from where he was sitting practically in Cobra's lap. His hysterics had lasted twenty minutes, and then he'd passed out. Cobra had also decided it was time for a nap, apparently, and they'd slept with Mikey pressed against his front. It was...regrettably comfortable. Too bad Cobra Star was insane.

"I..." he started, "can I stay with you guys for a while? I'm worried about Frank."

Viper gave him a sympathetic smile and glanced in Frank's direction. "It took me two months to get out of that shit," she told him softly. "Two months of constantly trying to report Cobra, trying to strange Ripley in his sleep to escape, trying to kill them all. I nearly slit Astral's throat with a butter knife."

Mikey felt the blood drain from his face.

Viper smiled at him. "He's doing better than me already. Everyone detoxing turns violent, but he didn't even try to attack you. That means something."

He felt his lips curve into something that wasn't quite a smile. "We'll see," he said. No use getting his own hopes up.


	3. Chapter 3

"Frank Anthony Iero Jr. That's you," Mikey said firmly, tapping his chest.

Frank looked down at the fingers prodding him like they were some new breed of alien, then looked up again and gave him a blank look. Mikey sighed heavily and let his hand drop back to his own lap. This wasn't working at all. Frank didn't react at all to his frustration, and Mikey wished with all his heart Frank would get up, give him that dumb pot giggle, and insist on cuddles.

The Cobra Crew, as its namesake had apparently dubbed them even before the Better Living shit went down, had found a spare tent in their van and Cobra had presented it to Mikey as a gift. They were currently in the bottom of what was likely a dried-out riverbed, where a nest of tents were laid out. It hadn't taken much to set up the tent, he'd been camping before, and Nate sat with Frank while he did so. Mikey had come back to find the neon man talking about kickbeats and chainsaws to Frank, who wasn't responding at all except to say something was against BLI codes.

Mikey appreciated it nonetheless.

"How's it goin'?"

He looked up at Cobra with something like resignation and helplessness in his face. The taller man gave him a sympathetic smile and walked over to sit crosslegged besides Mikey. Underneath all the teasing and innuendo, there was something that Mikey was regrettably attracted to. But he tried not to think about it too much. In this day and age, that just lead to trouble, especially if the person you were hot for was an active rebel and leader of a gang.

"I need him back," Mikey said, turning back to Frank, whose eyes had settled on Cobra expressionlessly.

Cobra blinked at Frank, and Frank blinked at Cobra, and they stared at each other without saying a single word. Mikey stayed silent, not quite sure what was going on between the two; whether they were having some sort of psychic conversation or something of the sort. After a long minute, Frank turned his head and met Mikey's gaze instead, staring. How come he didn't need to blink? Weren't his eyes drying out?

Cobra chuckled to himself and stood again.

"I'll be right back," he informed cheerfully, patting Mikey's shoulder.

Mikey ran his hand over Frank's, touching the sharp outline of the letters on his fingers gently and admiring the curves of the art. Of course, this got no reaction from the younger man, but there was still something comforting about the ink, like it was a sign he'd grow back into them. He slid his hand up Frank's arm gently, reaching the dark shadow of the scorpion on his neck.

"You got this one so you wouldn't have to get a real job," Mikey muttered, more to himself than to the solitary, empty Frank, whose pulse pushed erratically at his hand. "You can't give up now. You've still got to get back to Gee."

_Frank had insisted both Way brothers accompany him to the tattoo parlour to get the scorpion, despite the fact he knew all too well about Gerard's phobia of needles. And that wasn't mentioning the fact neither of them were interested in tattoos. Well, tattoos on their bodies. Gerard practically worshipped the mess of art on Frank's; Mikey still couldn't figure out why they hadn't slept together yet. He had been with Pete at the time- a friendship that worked well with the occasional blowjob, apparently, and kept his mind off of Ray._

_Heterosexual, heterosexual Ray. The bane of his existence._

_Gerard was practically bristling with nerves the minute he entered the store, but Frank wasn't having any of it. He dragged the older man straight over to the art samples, dumped a file in his arms, and ordered him to look. Mikey was dubious about this idea, but to his surprise Gerard just went along with it, showed Frank and Mikey his favourites as he read through them curiously. Frank shared an amused look with Mikey, trying not to giggle at the eldest Way brother._

_"Alright, which one of you is Iero?"_

_Frank waved cheerfully and bounced out of his chair, grabbing Gerard's hand and tugging him along. Immediately Mikey noticed the blood drain from Gerard's pale face as he followed them into the back. Honestly, he'd  considered Frank's motives and decided it wasn't malicious at all, so Mikey just allowed his brother to be dragged away._

_"Okay?"_

_"No," Gerard replied in a distressed voice._

_"Shoosh, you big fucking baby," Frank mumbled, taking Gerard's hand and lacing their fingers together and kissing Gee's palm._

_Gerard went bright red, and stayed that way for the entire tattooing process. He didn't even notice the needles, he was so high._

_"I got it to force myself onto the scene," Frank said to Mikey later, when Gerard had gone to the bathroom. "You can't get a real job with a neck tattoo. I'm just..."_

_Mikey thought of when Gerard came home from work, looking flat and pale and exhausted both emotionally and physically, and understood what Frank meant. The younger man had seen Gerard in his state before, drunk and lonely and practically bursting at the seams with palpable energy and ideas he couldn't release._

_Frank sighed, a rueful smile on his lips. "Think he'll ever get out of it?"_

_"He just needs a push," Mikey commented, not unkindly._

_"Who needs a push? Are you planning Ray's murder again because he'd rather play guitar than go clubbing?" Gerard's suspicious voice carried to them as its owner plopped down in the armchair across from them._

_Frank smiled, bright and wide in that way that lit up the whole room. "Nope," he chirped. "We're talking about how you're gonna write me some music."_

"He needs you," Mikey said to Frank. "You were always better at pushing him than me."

"It's me again," Cobra sang out as he burst in the tent, a bottle of vodka in one hand and a curious-looking Ripley in the other. Mikey raised an eyebrow at the pair- what exactly was alcohol going to achieve with Frank?- and then he noticed the acoustic slung around Ripley's angular shoulder. _Oh._ Because what was important to Frank, other than Gerard and his substantial weed stash? What was Frank's life, other than Gerard and his substantial weed stash?

Ripley glanced at Cobra and shrugged, folding his long limbs in something that wasn't quite elegant, but wasn't awkward, to sit parallel to Frank. The green-gold stare fixed Ripley's pale blue, and they had some sort of psychic conversation, at least that's what Mikey was assuming. Ripley nodded and pulled out the guitar, settling it in his own lap and gently playing a few chords to Frank, who didn't move in any way but still seemed rapt by the sound.

"Let them have their jam sesh," Cobra said in his ear.

Mikey looked at the pair again and he could've sworn he'd seen Frank's fingers twitch in time with the song. "Okay," he acquiesced, following Cobra out the tent.

They found a spot outside of the mass of heavy, sand-coloured tarpaulin where a couple of flat, ass-sized rocks were sitting, so Cobra sat and Mikey did the same. The dark-haired man held up the vodka to him after taking a long swig, and Mikey thought, _what the heck_ , and took it. The alcohol scorched a trail down his throat but once it hit his stomach it settled into warmth. He took another drink, the burn lessening this time, and passed it back to Cobra.

"So what's your story, Mikey?"

"Don't have one."

Cobra gave him a sidelong glance that created a bubbling feeling in Mikey's stomach that he ignored determinedly. It was probably just the vodka, after all. He'd been sober for a year after his own alcoholic escapades, but he trusted himself not to get too carried away. Anyway, it was the end of the world. Alcoholism was the last of his worries.

"Everyone has a story," Cobra said, turning back to look up at the night sky.

"I guess they do. Some just aren't interesting."

"Bullshit, there's always interesting stuff. I used to be a bartender back when I was in college," Cobra informed. "I got fired because I kept drinking all the stock."

"...right."

"I grew up in Uruguay," he offered.

"New Jersey, with my grandma and my brother," Mikey answered finally.

"You mentioned your bro before. What's he like?"

"He's cool. An idiot, but cool. He's an artist."

"Really? They're a dying breed, out here."

"He's a dying breed without being an artist," Mikey muttered.

Cobra seemed to sense the subject was sensitive, so he changed it. "So what's Jersey like? Or, what _was_ Jersey like?"

"Boring," Mikey said after a moment. "You always expect something exciting to happen, but it never does. You're in constant anticipation, but life goes on as always."

"Did you work?"

"Yeah. Two jobs. One was a store clerk at a fashion label."

"I can imagine that. You ever modelled for them?"

"What?" Mikey snorted. "No." He'd never been self-conscious, but he knew he wasn't conventionally attractive, even with the eye surgery and the blonde hair.

"You would've been good at it," Cobra said, a smile curving his lips slightly. Mikey stared at them, then shook his head and looked away. Probably just the vodka talking.

They sat there until the stars started to fade back into the morning light and the bottle was empty and rolling at their feet. Somehow time had blended itself together, and Mikey couldn't remember half of what he'd talked about. He vaguely remembered telling Cobra he was stupidly charming, and Cobra telling him quietly that he was drunk, and hot as Mikey was, he believed in explicit consent. Weird for a guy that'd been hitting on him from day one, but Mikey wasn't too offended, just used his shoulder as a pillow as they watched the sky.

"We should probably go check on our musical duo," Cobra commented absently.

Mikey mumbled an affirmative into the collar of his shirt.

They got up with some difficulty, Cobra trying and failing to grab the bottle and kicking it a few meters away instead. Mikey made an amused noise in the back of his throat and went after it instead, picking it up on the second try. He held it up triumphantly at Cobra and got a cheer for his efforts as they made their way back to the tents, only stumbling every few steps or so. Except for when Cobra tripped over a rock and stepped on someone's cowboy hat. Mikey wondered why their fashion sense reached to luminous cow-herding paraphernalia.

"Oh," Mikey said as Cobra opened the tent flap.

"Welcome back," Ripley greeted somewhat sarcastically, holding one hand to a swelling bruise on his temple.

Mikey's stare turned immediately to Frank, who was holding the acoustic to his chest like it was a child. His stare was as flat and emotionless as it had been, but his fingers were moving on the strings, settling on frets like he wasn't even controlling them. He wasn't strumming, though. Just moving his left hand along the fretboard absently, like the ghost of music, and staring at the shadows in the corner of the tent like there was no other direction to look.

"Put your other hand on it," Mikey ordered.

Frank looked up at him, looked back down at the guitar, and didn't move a muscle aside from the fretting.

Mikey let out a long huff and sat down next to him, watching those tattooed fingers dance along the strings.

"Why is he playing Black Flag?"

"It's one of his favourites," Mikey answered Cobra.

Ripley grimaced. "I tried to get him to play Taylor Swift."

"No wonder he hit you," both Cobra and Mikey said at the same time.

Ripley grimaced again.

"Where'd you get the guitar from?" Mikey kept one eye on Frank, but he didn't seem interested in any more violent activity. Just fretting.

"That one's Ripley's. But we found a bunch of musical instruments a while back," Cobra answered. "Sometimes we mess around with them, but we're on the road way too much to keep them all. Especially the two amps. It'd be a shame to dump them; especially after those BLI girls in the Chicago district started burning all the music. It's a sacred art now, you know."

"We can keep them for you," Mikey offered. Maybe there'd be an electric guitar, and he could coax Ray into playing with Frank again. If anything could fix the smaller man, it'd be the music. That was what Frank was all about, after all. His entire being was music, notes and cymbal crashes and screaming at the world.

The way he saw it, if he fixed Frank, Frank would fix Gerard.

"Where's your base?"

He hadn't noticed Nate enter the tent, probably wouldn't have noticed him at all if he hadn't spoke, but there he was, seated on Ripley's other side neatly with his legs in the other's lap. They looked weirdly nice together, Nate's soft but small figure contrasting against Ripley's angles. His fingers were tapping in counterpoint on Ripley's thigh to Frank's fretting, and he thought, _oh._

"A diner, abandoned," he answered, before "were you guys a band before this?"

Cobra laughed. "How did you guess?"

Mikey motioned to Nate's intense staring and tapping with one hand, and Ripley's fingers dancing over ghost frets.

"Fair," Cobra agreed. "Yeah, we were pop-rock. Got pretty good there in 2009 for a while."

In the back of his mind, Mikey's mind was echoing a dance song at a club, dark hair and sweat and strobe lights and firm hands on his hips. In the front of his mind, he tried to stay on track in the conversation, and patted a hand on Frank's knee as he spoke again.

"What happened?"

"Life," Nate said.

Mikey understood. "Yeah."

Those bright, alert eyes flickered to meet his and he surpressed a shiver at the intensity of it. Man, he had to be the drummer. He was putting his money on it. "If we give you the instruments, will you let us visit?"

"Sure," Mikey shrugged. "As long as you don't sneak up on us. Gerard's...kind of twitchy."

"Aren't we all, though," Ripley commented.

There was a general air of agreement in the air for a moment as none of them attempted to move or speak. Then Ripley stood and stretched, bright red shirt slipping up to show a stripe of bare skin. Nate took notice immediately, and Cobra snickered at the two of them. _Oh,_ Mikey thought again. That one actually made a lot of sense, come to think of it. Maybe it wasn't just a band thing after all. Or maybe it _was_ a band thing, and that was a nice thing to imagine.

"Don't forget about Astral," Cobra sung out as they left.

Nate gave him the finger.

Cobra shrugged and turned back to Mikey. "You want me to leave?"

Mikey thought for a moment, glanced over at Frank. "Can...can you stay?"

"Is that a proposition?" Cobra's voice was teasing, light, and Mikey felt a rush of relief at the fact he wasn't being pressured. In another world, he'd be excited at the thought of someone shouldering their way into his life. But in California 2018, he was content with the idea of having some security for the night.

"Not tonight," he said thoughtfully, then tacking on: "But I'm open to cuddling."

Cobra grinned.

Getting Frank to go to sleep was easier said than done, because he sat through Mikey taking off his shoes and Better Living pants, accepted Cobra removing the guitar from him gently and placing it within eyeview. He even laid down on his side when Mikey pushed at him gently, laying down with his hair half over his face, and god, it looked weird long. Mikey had a flashback of his dreadlocks phase and shuddered. No, Frank was fine, Frank would go to sleep now.

Then he started staring.

"Is this...normal?"

Cobra, who had by now divested himself of ridiculously coloured jacket, shoes and pants, shrugged instead of answering. Mikey leaned back against him wearily, eyes fixed on the darkened wall of the tent like he could ignore that blank look. Unfortunately, he couldn't,  because Frank was being fucking creepy and there was no way he was sleeping with those eyes on him. Cobra pressed a kiss under his ear gently.

"Just pretend he's a piece of furniture," he offered.

"He's not, though. He's my brother's dumbshit boyfriend," Mikey replied.

"Ah," Cobra said understandingly, winding an arm around Mikey's waist.

"Everyone in my...well, my family now, I guess, they're not doing so well. I mentioned Gee, and I'm a wreck, and Ray is...well, who knows," Mikey said to the silence of the tent. "Maybe Frank can fix them."

"Ray?" A cautious tint came into Cobra's voice. "He your boyfriend?"

Mikey was shocked into a laugh. "Fuck, no. He's the straightest man I've ever met."

Cobra laughed too. "The straight ones. Always the bane of your existence."

"Mm. I wouldn't even try to put a move on him."

"He might go for it, you know."

"No," Mikey said ruefully, "he's definitely into females only."

_He'd spent weeks trying to find a way to talk to Ray Toro. Heterosexual, Heterosexual Ray Toro, who definitely did not like men. Heterosexual Ray Toro who liked woman. Blonde women. Brunette women. Women with boobs._

_And yet here he was, going to talk to Heterosexual Ray Toro._

_"He's straight, you know," Frank said to Mikey one night as they sat with the whiskey between them at a bar, watching the man shred onstage. Frank knew Heterosexual Ray Toro, wanted to draw him in for a band he was making. And shit, could he shred. Mikey was getting tight in his jeans just watching Ray's fingers moving. What he'd give for those hands in his pants._

_"No," Mikey said. Sarcasm._

_"Yes," Frank said. Not sarcasm._

_Frank had taken him to see heterosexual Ray Toro after the show, praised the guitarist as he pulled off his sweat-stained shirt and set it aside. Mikey tried not to stare too much, but once his eyes actually made it to Heterosexual Ray Toro's face, the man was already giving him an embarassed look, his cheeks colouring._

_Well, it was his fault for being so hot._

_Mikey could only imagine what Ray saw: tall, skinny, dark-rimmed eyes under feathered golden brown bangs. Glasses. Extremely tight grey jeans. Faded Anthrax t-shirt. Probably an expression that didn't reveal anything despite the warm buzz of arousal in his stomach._

_"Hey," Mikey said, a hint of a smile at his lips. "Good show."_

_"Thanks," Ray said, beaming, and whatever that spark had been, it was gone again. "I'm Ray."_

_"Heterosexual Ray Toro," Mikey murmured, taking the offered hand._

_"Do you play?"_

_Of course. The music. He could seduce heterosexual Ray Toro with music._

_"I've been meaning to learn bass, but I suck."_

_"Really?" Heterosexual Ray Toro seemed to appreciate this. "I could teach you, you know."_

_Score. "Sounds good."_

_Frank shrugged in a 'what can you do' motion._

"So what happened?"

"He taught me how to play bass," Mikey said flatly.

Cobra laughed. "Did you try and put the moves on him?"

"I did everything. Got him drunk, sat in his lap, wore lingerie..."

Cobra's hum of interest buzzed at his neck. "Panties?"

"Black lace."

"Damn. And he wasn't interested?"

"He either didn't notice or got embarassed and ran away. After a year I gave up and now we've been friends for years. "

"In all that time, nothing ever happened?"

"Well," Mikey said thoughtfully, "I gave him a blowjob once. He was too drunk to remember it, though."

Cobra chuckled. "The _shame_. How was he, though? In bed?"

"Hot as all fuck. He made these...noises. Damn."

"I can imagine," Cobra breathed.

And that was when Frank spoke. "Can I have earmuffs, please? You're disgusting, his afro would swallow you anyway."

Wait.

" _Frank?"_


	4. Chapter 4

"Ray Toro isn't straight," Cobra said doubtfully as he painted the bleach into Mikey's fringe neatly with one hand, tugging a little too roughly at the strands. Ever since he'd sat down Cobra had been repeating himself like a broken record, and Ray wasn't even here to defend his heterosexuality. Gerard didn't have an opinion on it. Frank would probably do it, but he wasn't really...awake right now. And Mikey....

Mikey grunted.

"Which one is Ray?" Viper, who had been called in with the rest of the gang once Astral had retrieved them, tugged at a lock of Gerard's hair, ignoring the whine of pain she received. It was a mess; he probably hadn't washed it since Better Living came in. Luckily, Viper seemed uninterested in his pain as she ignored the complaining profusely, combing out stubborn knots with a deft hand. Mikey admired her a little, simply because she was dealing with Gerard's hair, Gerard, and Frank sitting at Gerard's feet without a single complaint.

"Princess Fro-Fro," Cobra answered, and Mikey wondered where exactly his nicknames came from. Some dark place, evidently.

"Ah," Viper nodded in understanding nonetheless. "Are you sure? I mean, he blushed like a tomato when I said hi."

"He's just shy," Mikey grumbled. "And he's straight."

Heterosexual, heterosexual Ray Toro.

Viper picked at a snarl in Gerard's hair and let out an aggrieved sigh. Hairdressers had been doing the same thing for years, though, so Gerard didn't look very offended. "I'm going to have to cut some of it," she informed. "Most of it."

Gerard whined again.

Frank didn't say anything at that, even though he had _opinions_ about hair, especially his sort-of-not-really boyfriend's. Cobra had suggested the green dye, but after taking one look at the mouldy broccoli colour of Astral's fringe, Gerard had vetoed it strongly. Frank had just settled down by Gerard's muddy boots where he crossed his legs and basically went offline again, staring off into the distance.

Frank had become unresponsive again once they'd sat him at the least grimy diner table and given him some food. Sure, he'd ate it, but he'd stopped talking again and Gerard was more than a little concerned, although he'd just taken it in stride. There was some spark of life in those green eyes now, though, which was probably what kept Gerard sitting still, one hand petting gently through Frank's soft black hair.

"Cut it all off," Cobra said jokingly, folding up the alfoil in Mikey's hair. For some reason they had an entire hairdressing supply bag, which convinced Mikey they were in fact, looters. There was no way they'd just had all this crap to begin with. Unlike Frank, who'd been into neon hair from the start.

_"You should totally dye your hair red, Gee."_

_Gerard's cheeks puffed out slightly at Frank and he pouted. Frank just gave him a slightly aggravated look and tossed another bottle into a rubbish bag. They were sitting in the basement, and Gerard was deliberating over hair colours while Mikey and Frank methodically cleared out his stash. Jim Bean, gone. Jack Daniel's, gone. Vodka, gone. Shitty cheap beer, gone. He'd amassed quite the storage of beverages here, and even Mikey, who drank some of it, didn't realise quite how much of an alcoholic his brother was._

_"I'm gonna dye it black again," Gerard decided._

_A day or so after his hospital scare, Gerard had made the executive decision to go sober. Whether this was due to a very pale and shaky Frank slapping him hard across the face and refusing to return until he attempted to remedy his alcohol problem or not, Mikey wasn't sure. They didn't really talk about it, even though the purpling of the bruise was still evident on Gerard's pale skin._

_"You're no fun," Frank said belligerently._

_"You dye your hair black too, Frankie," Gerard answered. "Pot, kettle."_

_Frank snorted. "That's different."_

_"What's the difference, huh?"_

_"When I think about you, I don't imagine black," Frank explained, not coherent in the slightest._

_"But...red?"_

_"Yeah. But, like. Not like a blood red. Like, a candy coloured red."_

_"That would look terrible," Gerard replied._

"Alright, you're done. Keep it in for forty-five minutes," Cobra said dismissively.

At least he was safe from alien brainwashing now. Mikey glanced over at the bottles of dye and made his way over there with a rustle of foil, started rifling through them. Blues, greens- even what looked legitimately like neon yellow. Ew. It would take someone special to manage that. After a few decisive moments, he pulled out a bottle and tossed it to Viper, who caught it without even looking up. "Nice choice," she said approvingly, without removing her gaze from the scissors and Gerard's hair.

"It's not my choice," Mikey said, looking at Frank.

Nothing.

There was a moment of silence, and then Cobra spoke again, pushing his sunglasses onto his hair and ruffling it up. Mikey took a moment to appreciate just how _nice_ he looked, not so much his physical attributes but the way he held himself, relaxed but predatory and alert. It was unique, and it suited him well. Kind of hot, really.

"What happened to him, anyway?"

"Who?"

"Raymond. Where'd he go?"

"Probably out to the shooting range," Mikey answered.

Cobra smirked. "Alright. Off you go, then. Ask him how straight he is."

Mikey tried to convey what was a feeling of severe displeasure at Cobra's attempted matchmaking through eyebrow movement. He got a wiggle back and a wink, and sighed his unhappiness instead, turning to go back to the main part of the diner. He couldn't go anywhere until the dye set, anyway. He'd heard horror stories about the bleach burning off people's hair, and he needed his hair. Baldness was terrifying. Even worse, he might look like Gerard when he had that silvery white hair phase. So he was stuck here.

"Tell me the most embarrassing stories about Cobra you know," he said to Astral, Nate and Ripley as he sat down.

Ripley grinned.

Once a very amusing and entertaining forty or so minutes had passed and Mikey felt he had enough dirt on Cobra for a few short lifetimes, he returned to the back room to rinse his hair while Cobra tutted about split ends. He allowed the haircut with some resistance, mostly to show solidarity for poor Gerard, who looked worried about the state of his head. Cobra patted a hand through Mikey's hair once neatly, made an approving noise and pushed him in the direction of the dusty mirror they owned.

"Voila. All pretty for your date. Which is surprising, because your hair was fit for a nest of rats before," Cobra said proudly.

"It looks nice," Mikey conceded, not acknowledging the insult.

Cobra had shaved the sides of his hair, which he honestly wasn't too sure about but had gone with, and it had turned out surprisingly well. The brown was still visible, still added shadows to his face. He'd left the fringe alone, thankfully, but that didn't change the fact it looked completely different. Mikey reached one hand up and pushed his fringe off his face tentatively, looking at the contrast of the blonde. He looked...

"Hot," Frank said from somewhere in the vicinity of his feet and when had he moved? Mikey looked down at him, poked him in the thigh with a boot gently. Frank blinked slowly but didn't attempt to react to it, and that was the most heartbreaking thing because Frank was a being of _energy,_ and now he had none.

Frank gave Mikey a weak shrug of his frail-looking shoulders and an even weaker smile. "Go talk to Ray, seriously," he whispered when Mikey knelt down to offer him a hand up.

"You're gonna stay on the floor?"

Frank started to nod assent and then pulled the bucket designated for vomit closer, face paling slightly. He didn't actually throw up, but it looked like it was a close thing.

"Wear the..." His face went blank for a few long, worrying heartbeats, and then he was animated again, waving one hand absently. Mikey could barely contain his sigh of relief. Of course he was getting better, he was with his boyfriend again. Gerard and Frank would pull each other up, that was how they were.

"Wear the...you know," Frank said, voice pitched low so the others in the room couldn't hear.

"The what, Frank."

Frank raised an eyebrow at him, conveying a smirk without even moving his lips. Impressive, for a recuperating pod person, but Frank had always been pretty emotionally driven. Little fucker had been learning from someone, probably Gerard. The eyebrow communication didn't suit him. But. Immediately,  Mikey knew exactly what he meant by the _you knows_.

" _Jesus fucking Christ, Mikey. You're going all out tonight, aren'tcha?"_

_Mikey barely looked back at Frank, who'd been making snide comments ever since Gerard had left to pick up more art supplies, as he lined his eyes delicately with kohl. He didn't change expression at the younger man's ribbing in in the slightest, rifling through Gerard's makeup storage idly and picking out things that looked interesting. Silver eyeliner, huh. No._

_"I don't think dressing like a girl's going to help you seduce a straight man," Frank commented, being rather unhelpful himself._

_Mikey turned to look at him. "The makeup isn't for Ray," he said plaintively._

_"Sure," Frank snorted disbelievingly. "Because you dress up all the time."_

_"The makeup is for me," Mikey said flatly. "Ray is straight."_

_Frank's eyebrows nearly flew into his hairline as he caught the sight of what was under the waistband of Mikey's jeans. "What about the panties?"_

_"Those are..."_

_He didn't ask Frank to join him to the party, but the shorter man came along anyway, saying something about wanting to drink himself into a stupor without feeling like an asshole. Mikey didn't really give a shit, just texted Ray on the way to make sure he'd be there. He could hook up with someone, hang out with Ray, go home and pass out. The party was at Bert's place, so it was sure to be like a brothel in there. Mikey didn't trust Bert at all, but the man only really showed interest in Gerard and that was thankfully Frank's problem._

_The aforementioned man disappeared in his search for beer almost immediately, leaving Mikey to mingle around. Someone gave him a red solo cup full of what smelled like whiskey, and he drank it, melting into the crowd like he was made for them. A group of people were dancing, and Mikey joined in, slipped up against a hard, muscled body and let the guy grind on him, leaving Mikey wetly gasping for air when there wasnt any. A girl pressed up against his chest, soft and curvy and completely out of it, and granted him more alcohol before slapping his ass._

_Nice._

_But he'd come here for more than just anonymous sex, and as he tilted his head against the guy's collarbone and ground, he noticed a familiar afro. A very familiar afro. An afro, if he wasn't seeing things, that belonged to a certain Raymond Toro. He slipped away from his dance partner, handing him the empty cup, and trailed after Ray, who was going up to the master bedroom. What was he going to do in there? Meet someone?_

_Mikey let out a quiet, unsurprised noise when he looked in the bedroom and heard the sound of Ray pattering about in the en suite. He inwardly shrugged and went to see what he was doing._

_"Dude," Mikey said._

_"It's so gross," Ray whined._

_"It could have been vomit," he said, not trying to console the man currently trying to wash wine out of his clothes. Why someone at this party had brought wine, he didn't know. Clearly Bert had made friends with someone who wasn't a broke drug dealer or an alcoholic for once._

_Ray groaned._

_"Get in the shower, it's going to get sticky," Mikey instructed, shuffling past him to turn on the hot water. He heard the sounds of Ray shuffling around and realised vaguely that he'd just told him to strip. Damnit, he was trying to give up on Heterosexual Ray Toro, not...molest him, or something._

_"Water's warm," Mikey told him, turning around to see what exactly Ray was doing._

_And fuck, that had been a bad idea._

_Because Ray was in his underwear, having gotten rid of the wine-stained clothes and Mikey could see his bare chest and the outline of his cock in his boxer briefs and that was unfairly hot. He didn't realise he was looking too hard until Ray shifted uncomfortably, face going red._

_"I'll...wait in the other room," Mikey said vaguely, exiting abruptly._

_He sat down on the bed, head in his hands, his dick was already pushing at his jeans painfully. Now he regretted the skinny jeans immensely. But he couldn't stop thinking about those long seconds of a half-naked Ray, embarrassed and not even trying to cover the silhouette of his monster dick. And what would that feel like inside him?_

_"Fuck it," he grumbled to himself as he palmed at his cock, breath hitching. Ray would probably take a while in the shower; he'd been soaked in wine._

_Which left Mikey plenty of time to fantasize and get rid of this hard-on before he came out. Time to ponder the way he'd touch Mikey if he was a girl; probably the same way he'd touch a guitar, with those long, talented fingers pushing and pressing, patient and careful. Mikey's wrist brushed lace as he wrapped a hand around his length and he unintentionally closed his eyes at the surprising slam of pleasure from that simple touch. Fuck. It was so good, he couldn't think properly and it was all from fucking Ray Toro-_

_What he wasn't expecting was the footsteps he heard and shit, Ray was probably going to freak when he saw Mikey jerking off, but the thought sent another hot wave of arousal down his spine. He gasped for air that wasn't there, tightened his grip, slid his fingers down the base of his cock and dared to open his eyes. He couldn't see much of Ray, just his silhouette as Mikey writhed on the bed, realising with some irony the light from the bathroom was shining on him, giving Ray a perfect view of the pink lace he was wearing._

_Shit. "Please," he managed to gasp out, "I need- please, you-"_

_And Ray was in motion and Mikey thought maybe, maybe, but then the door to the bedroom slammed and Ray Toro was gone, leaving Mikey with a raging erection and a hurting heart._

"Who says I still have them?"

Frank shrugged. "Do you?"

He didn't blush, but the responding smirk on Frank's face said he might as well have. Mikey wondered what his own face was portraying right now. Hopefully nothing that could be used as blackmail later. "Go get him," Frank instructed.

"He hasn't gotten any more gay since you last checked, that's impossible," Mikey answered flatly.

"Mikey, Ray isn't-"

"Done," Viper said cheerfully as she returned to the room with Gerard in tow. Frank immediately went silent and turned wide, shocked eyes turning on everyone in the room. When he turned his stare back on Mikey, Mikey smirked at him. Just call him a fairy fucking godmother. Literally.

"You," Frank said, squinting.

"Me," Mikey answered.

"Um...does it look okay?"

"No, it looks awful," came the deadpan reply. Gerard pouted.

Mikey could only imagine what Frank saw when he looked at his brother, but he had to admit the red looked good. It made you look at Gerard's face as a whole rather than just the despondent look he'd had on his face. Weirdly, it made the bags under his eyes _blend_ a little more, enough that it looked more natural and less like he was a skeleton. The biggest change was his expression, however.

Because Gerard was _smiling._ It wasn't a huge smile, just a little one that curved his lips upward slightly, but the sparkle of life in his eyes as he looked at Frank and the faint pink of his cheeks made a world of difference. For once, he looked like Gerard Arthur Way, rather than just a shadow.

"Frankie?"

Frank was positively beaming, and Mikey had guessed right when he'd thought they'd pull each other out of the depths. "I told you, Gee!"

"Yeah,you did," Gerard said easily, meeting him halfway across the room and catching Frank as he threw himself into Gerard's arms. Frank slumped a little and Mikey thought his knees would give way, but Gerard just leaned down a little to scoop Frank into his arms. Mikey knew himself how small and birdlike the younger man felt in his arms, but it was still a surprise that even Gerard could lift him.

"Man, I love you," Frank said with a kiss to Gerard's nose, and Gerard grinned back at him.

"Love you too, Frankie. So much."

Something in Mikey's chest starting hurting as he watched the pair. He must have eaten the bad Power Pup or something. Because he was fine, not everyone had a Frank and that's how life was. It wasn't because life wanted him to be lonely and pine after the guy he couldn't get forever.

"Cute," Cobra commented.

Mikey shrugged, didn't say a single word.

"You gonna talk to Ray?"

"No," Mikey replied evenly. "There's nothing to talk to him about, unless you're dying his hair too."

Cobra's long defeated sigh made him inwardly smirk, and he raised a hand and swatted Mikey across the head hard just as the man they were talking about walked into the room curiously. Mikey started cursing and staggered back, looking up to see why the room was silent. Then, _oh_. Ray stood still for a second, then gave them all a confused frown from under the mess of his hair.

"Uh," Ray said, staring at Gerard's hair and the way he was carrying Frank bridal-style. And oh, right, he hadn't known about Gerard and Frank being serious with each other. Well, that cat was out of the bag.

Frank giggled. "Hi, Ray! Look at Gerard's hair!"

"Yeah. Um. It looks good," Ray said finally, offering the pair a small, shy smile.

"What about this one, though? What a stallion!" Cobra said with a lecherous grin, and motioned to Mikey.

Ray's eyes went wide with surprise and he took a few steps forward, closer to Mikey, who self-consciously scrubbed a hand through the blond fringe. There was something in Ray Toro's expression Mikey had only ever seen once or twice in their lifetime, something that made his heart speed up incrementally and Ray, eyes darker than usual, opened his mouth to say-

And that's when the dracs burst in.

One of them didn't actually have a gun, and Mikey wondered where the fuck the Cobra Crew was. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gerard drop to the floor, turning to protect Frank from any shots with his back, which was silly because Frank was already struggling. It took Viper maybe two seconds to drop the first drac, roundhouse kicking it in the face and pulling out her gun to shoot at the white mask.

The second one did, in fact, have a gun.

Cobra, who was beside him, drew his own painted monstrosity and aimed it, but that was after the white-suited menace squeezed off a couple of shots directed perfectly at Mikey and oh fuck, he was going to die, he didn't have enough time to get out the way-

And that was when Ray Toro jumped in front of him.


	5. Chapter 5

"This isn't a hospital and I can't kick you out, kid, but you need to let him rest."

Mikey shot Astral a death glare that would have probably smited God himself and struck down the heavens.

Astral raised his hands in self-defense, and they retained eye contact for a few long seconds before the green-fringed man seemed to realise Mikey wasn't budging and left the room, muttering something about teens and their mood swings. The door shut behind him with a loud click and Mikey couldn't find it in himself to care even a little, and turned back to Ray.

Ray who had nearly died saving him.

_Stupid,_ stupid Ray.

"You motherfucking cocksucker," Mikey breathed out, tightening his grip on the unconscious man's fingers. Ray didn't squeeze back, but that was probably for the best because if he had, Mikey might have broken his hand.

They'd dispatched the dracs fairly quickly, or Viper had, at least.

The minute Ray was hit he dropped like a stone, making a sickening thump as he hit the ground. Mikey had dropped to his knees with a muted crack, ignoring the chaos around him to scream at Ray through brimming tears, that he couldn't die like this, it wasn't fair, not for _him_. It had taken Cobra pulling him away forcibly and Gerard curling up under his arm and crying as well, into his chest (because he still hadn't got a shirt) before he'd allowed Astral to even look at Ray. Even then, he kept making aborted moves to grab at Ray, only held back by Frank's deathgrip on one hand and his sobbing brother nearly sitting on the other.

Because Ray couldn't die, that was completely unthinkable. He was _Ray_ , he was the chains that bound them together, they all needed him, with his ridiculous hair and his perfectionist attitude and gentle smiles.

Mikey had immediately and violently thrown up, dry and painful when Astral had finally looked at them with pity in his eyes. It had burned his throat and clenched his abdominal muscles and he cried on Gerard as much as Gerard had cried on him until they were stuck together with snot and tears. Frank did his best to comfort them both but he continued to space out while trying and just distressed the brothers more. A minute later, he was informed that Ray Toro hadn't died, probably just had some damage to his head. _But_. There was always a fucking but.

_He's not going to be the same, he's lost some eyesight in one eye. He's lucky it's only the eye, to be honest- he can probably still see for now, but it'll deteriorate until he goes blind in that one. Maybe we can get him a cool eyepatch when that happens, yeah? One with diamonds and like, a laser._

Mikey had nearly been sick again at that. At the thought of it, at the realisation of what he'd done, what Ray had done. Why was it that everyone had to be a martyr when it came to him? First Gerard with his rations bullshit and then fucking Ray Toro jumping in front of a laser beam for him. Ray was going to go _blind_ , and it was all his fault, if he'd just _moved out of the fucking way_ -

"M'key...wha's..."

" _Ray_."

Ray gave him a dreamy smile that confirmed how strong those painkillers Astral had given him had been. Which is to say, he was probably higher than a kite right about now. At least this way he was easier to face. God knows what he'd be acting like sober. His hand squeezed Mikey's gently, soft in manner but still calloused to all hell.

"Hi," Ray said.

"Fuck you," Mikey said.

Ray blinked up at him and Mikey imagined those dark, intelligent eyes blurring over, going white and dead. A fucking _eyepatch_? He didn't feel the tears until they started burning a hot wet trail down his cheeks, and it took a few moments for Ray to even respond. God, he was as high as a kite. Mikey wished he'd been shot so he could just drift away from all of this. He flinched as gentle fingers patted at his chin, slipped up his face to wipe gently at his face.

"Shh," Ray mumbled, smearing the tears more than wiping them away.

"You're a fucking idiot," Mikey seethed, although it was ruined by his raw voice and the fact he was still crying.

"Shh," Ray repeated, making a choked sob slip past Mikey's clenched teeth.

"I- fuck you, Ray, I just- I hate-"

"Mikey, c'mere," Ray coaxed, and Mikey went, of course he did.

The sleeping bags did almost nothing to protect anyone from the hard concrete floor, let alone one who was almost entirely made of bone, and Mikey winced as his elbow connected with it. He spread out gingerly next to Ray, making absolutely sure they weren't touching. Stupid, stupid asshole, fucking Heterosexual Ray Toro.

Of course, his plans to stay a foot away and hurl insults at his rescuer were abruptly destroyed when Ray tugged at their joined hands slightly. Mikey squinted at him and Ray tugged again, eyes completely innocent. With a heavy sigh that communicated his feelings on cuddling, Mikey shuffled a little closer, just enough that their knees and shoulders were touching. Ray gave him a pleased look.

"You're kind of blurry," Ray commented, and Mikey clenched his fists, refused to reply for a minute because he'd punch Ray right in that pretty face.

Then Mikey felt an arm wind around his waist and he was pulled basically onto Ray's chest. It was warm, kind of soft but also leanly muscled, just really...nice. It was hard to try and be angry when said person you were supposed to be angry at was cuddling you. Especially when they were warm and you were worn out and tired and just wanted to feel safe for five seconds.

"Shh," Ray comforted, and Mikey went offline because _heterosexual Ray Toro_ had just kissed his forehead.

"Th' blond looks good," Ray mumbled, and then he was out again.

Mikey couldn't sleep, but he could think, could mull over what had just happened with his eyes shut and Ray's chest beating under his. Ray hadn't been this cuddly since...since...

_"What happened with you and Ray?"_

_"Nothing."_

_Frank raised an eyebrow. "Tell me you didn't like, date rape him."_

_"No. Fuck you."_

_Frank rolled his eyes and grabbed Mikey's wrist. "Come on then. We're not hiding in here forever."_

_Mikey thought that hiding in his bathroom and waiting for Ray to leave the party was a perfectly acceptable pastime. It'd take a while, maybe overnight, but the bathroom was nice enough and he had a packet of smokes so it'd be fine. Gerard's one-month-sober party was a good occasion, sure, but the situation with him and Ray hadn't been fixed at all and he didn't want to fix it. Every time they were in the same room Mikey just made an excuse about leaving._

_"I'm not hanging out here, they're playing truth or dare and I'm missing out," Frank whined, pulling Mikey another inch._

_"Truth or dare is only good when you're wasted, I'm not even drunk, give me a break you hyperactive fuck," and yes, Frank was climbing onto his back to be carried. Mikey let out a heavy sigh that was probably too dramatic for the situation and walked out into the hall, squinting. No sign of Ray. Good._

_He made his way down the hall grumpily, Frank wiggling on his back and kicking his legs incessantly the entire time. Seriously, the man could at least try to stay still if he wanted to be a backpack. Mikey twisted back, trying to get a decent view of the punk's face so he could glare, but he bumped into something warm and solid and nearly dropped Frank altogether._

_"Ray," Frank greeted cheerfully as all the blood drained out of Mikey's face. "S'up, dude?"_

_"Uh, yeah, not much," Ray answered awkwardly, probably because Frank was smushing his dick into the side of Mikey's face._

_Mikey tried not to look guilty._

_Frank didn't seem phased by this and Ray didn't say anything, so maybe he'd just forgotten all about it. Splendid. Mikey shifted Frank on his shoulders so he wasn't getting a faceful of sweaty crotch and retained his neutral face, staring somewhere over Ray's shoulder and wishing he had a joint._

_"So, truth or dare?"_

_"Sure."_

Ray let out a loud and obnoxious snore and Mikey buried his smile against a bicep, silent. Once Mikey had started actively hiding his attraction to Ray they'd become best friends, something he didn't regret for a second. Ray was a decent person, something that was incredibly rare in society these days. And his guitar skill...well. Who wouldn't be in love with Ray Toro?

Mikey slipped out from under the arm, his smile fading. This wasn't something he got to have. Ray could have _died_ for him. It wasn't fair that stuff like that could happen, but it certainly wasn't fair for Ray to go blind and it was Mikey's fault and that wasn't fair either. The older man made a sleepy noise and reached for Mikey in his sleep, but he was already a foot away.

He couldn't have this.

Mikey let out a sigh and turned away from Ray, pushing open the door heavily and bumping into a hard body. He looked up to find Cobra, who had a faintly amused look on his face and what looked like a plastic bottle of wine. Cobra patted a hand through his hair quietly and stepped back a little, motioning with his head for Mikey to follow. He wasn't sure if it was a good idea to be traipsing around on the roof of the diner, but when Cobra started climbing the drainage pipe, he followed.

"Thought you might need some quiet time," Cobra said to him when they were settled.

Mikey extricated the bottle from him and took a swig, staying silent.

"You know, it took the others a while to settle into what we have now," Cobra offered. "I mean, I always knew we'd end up here, but they sure didn't."

Mikey raised one eyebrow fractionally, which prompted the man to continue talking. He had actually been indicating for Cobra to shut up because he just _knew_ there was going to be a goddamn life lesson, but he didn't say a word anyway. Until he said the words 'Ray,' 'heterosexual,' or 'panties,' Mikey was willing to put up with his speech.

"Five people in a relationship is fucking great. It actually started with Nate and Victoria," _oh, so that's Viper's real name,_ "and they were the hardest to convince so I went after them first, y'know? Alex and Ryland were easy sells, but the thing is that it's hard to be in love in this world. I'm happy to share the love with everyone who needs it, but it's hard to do it in the desert."

"Then again," Cobra added after a moment of thoughtful silence, "it might be the only time you have before you die."

"Is that your subtle way of telling me to push Ray into a relationship?"

Cobra laughed and slung an arm over Mikey's shoulders. "Honey," he said, "there ain't no pushing that boy into something he already wants."

"He's he-"

"-terosexual Ray Toro, trademark, copyright of the killjoy squad," he interrupted Mikey.

"Killjoy squad," Mikey repeated dryly.

"Hey, if y'all were more fun maybe you'd have a fun name. But from now on, you're the killjoys."

"Next you're going to make us nicknames."

"Nah," Cobra answered easily. "You gotta come up with that shit yourself."

"Cool."

"You'll come up with something, kid. Don't worry about it."

"I..." Mikey swallowed hard. "I don't want to push him into something he doesn't want."

Cobra sighed. "He totally _does_ want. I'm tellin' you, just take off your pants and you'll get results."

"No. I'm gonna, I'm gonna wait until he's ready," Mikey answered firmly.

"Fine. Whatever," Cobra said in a defeated voice. "Do you want to go on an adventure then?"

"Adventure?"

"Someone's gonna go get some records from a guy I know. I think your brother volunteered? I'll send Viper, too, if you want."

"Yeah. I'll go too," Mikey replied. "Have you got a spare gun?"

"Have I," Cobra said in a devious tone.

"Not _that_ kind."

Cobra split off to find Viper and weaponry and Mikey found Gerard sitting on a rock staring into space. This wasn't so unusual in itself, it was unusual that he looked like he was actively _thinking_. Lately Gerard's 'idea' time was taken up by a flat stare at a pebble, but as Mikey faced his brother, he noticed the spark. Gerard had come back in spirit, even if his body still looked painfully frail. His eyes were distant but bright, the way they'd been when he drew comics or hummed a tune that didn't exist, and it made Mikey's heart lift a little.

"Hey," he greeted.

Gerard snapped back immediately, dark eyes landing on Mikey's face and breaking out into a small smile. "Hey yourself."

Mikey tilted his head a little, just enough that the sun wasn't glaring directly in his eyes.

"Something happening?"

"Yeah," Mikey said. "Supply run. You were coming?"

"Yeah," Gerard agreed, getting to his feet.

Gerard didn't go on supply runs. Like, at all. He avoided them like the plague- he hadn't left the diner in God knows how long. He'd been on the first few, sure, but his need to go out had been heavily diminished and he usually just sat wherever he was and stayed there for the rest of the day.

Mikey sat down next to him.

"I'm glad Ray's okay," Gerard said quietly.

"He's not okay, though."

"He did a brave thing. I'm proud of him."

"It wasn't brave, it was damn stupid."

"We all do stupid things for people we love," he said, and Mikey frowned.

"You sound like Cobra."

"Maybe he's right, then."

Gerard stood up, offered a hand to Mikey. He took it, but didn't let any of his weight rest on his brother at all. Gerard would probably go over like a felled tree if he did.

"Also, put on a shirt. You're gonna get sunburned," Gerard chided.

Mikey grimaced.

Because of course, when Gerard mentioned the need for a shirt to Cobra, the man pulled out a shirt identical to the one he himself was wearing. And it was yellow, with some sort of animal print to it. Mikey was disgusted.

"I'm not wearing that."

"Yes you are," Cobra replied cheerfully. "Anyway, it matches your helmet."

He passed Mikey the helmet from hell.

"Why the fuck do you have a yellow helmet?"

"Yellow is great!"

"I like yellow," Gerard chirped.

"You're in the van, party boy," Viper said as she passed by.

Gerard pouted, but it wasn't like he could ride a motorcycle anyway. He patted the helmet in Mikey's hand and then patted Mikey's collarbone. A nervous smile was curling at his lips but it didn't look like terror so Mikey let it slide. Gerard grinned.

"I'll paint it for you later, kay? Promise. We'll make it fun."

"No you won't," Mikey grumped. "You'll make it worse."

Gerard shrugged and turned to jump in the van with Viper, who was trying to untangle her green tie from the steering wheel. It didn't seem to be working. Mikey turned to get on the bike and bumped into Cobra, weirdly reminiscent of that time with Ray. He looked up.

"Come back safe," was all Cobra had to say, brushing his lips against Mikey's gently.

Mikey bit his bottom lip, pulled at it slightly. It wasn't a hard bite, just a nip, but the spark in Cobra's eyes had a burn starting in his lower stomach.

"I'll watch your Afro Princess for you, kid," Cobra answered without Mikey even saying anything.

"Stop calling me that."


End file.
